


Key

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: The Sundered Oath [4]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, PoE Inktober, Woedican Watcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: For a while, it seemed worth the effort; she could tell the difference. That was what she wanted – a little more power, even if it would not really be hers – and now it turns out that it is not, that it has never been. The words she sings to him come from Woedica, so it should not surprise her that Woedica takes all.





	Key

**Author's Note:**

> (PoE Inktober, prompt 10: Key)

Sabela brushes a strand of damp hair out of her face. Closing her eyes, she bites back a sigh. It would be easier if this was disappointing, it would be easier if she was less… greedy, perhaps. Or ambitious. Because in the end, when she tumbles down from the sky onto the pillows like a falling star, there is little left but dying embers. She is bitter, and her pride is hurt, and that is a wound she cannot forgive.

But she speaks nothing of it, and tries not to think too loudly either, because it was her idea. And for a while, it seemed worth the effort; she could tell the difference. That was what she wanted – a little more power, even if it would not really be hers – and now it turns out that it is _not_ , that it has never been. The words she sings to him come from Woedica, so it should not surprise her that Woedica takes all. Sabela knows that is how the Queen’s justice works, she has simply somehow managed to forget it, because…

She swallows a curse, because she has never expected _that_. It was supposed to be the usual routine, only better – intrigues, mystery, power, amusement. What is the point of being a storyteller who does not create and then _live_ some of the best stories? Thaos was supposed to be the most interesting, exciting tale in her life so far, nothing else. She should have thought of the dangers of that earlier.

But now, when she has everything she wanted and even more – power, wealth, a keep, a place among the nobles of Dyrwood, recognition of her talent; another kind of power, a high place in the hierarchy of the Leaden Key, the favour of the Queen, knowledge of some of Thaos’ plans and a place at his side and in his bed – she realises what a mistake it was to think that she would never fall for a tale, when stories are all she has even been in love with. Now she wants every tiniest note of that song – but it does not belong to her, because the words are not hers, either.

But, oh, she _wants_. The rhythm of his heartbeat, the staccato of his breaths, the intelligible phrases he sometimes mutters in Engwithan like a chant, the counterpoint of his silence. At least he spares her the sound of her name when she knows he is thinking of another.

“Jealous of Woedica, after all?” Thaos asks, a slight hint of mockery in his voice.

Sabela sits up gracefully, throwing her hair over her shoulder, letting it cascade down her back. She is a work of art, and he should admire that, at least. He should admire _something_. “Just don’t tell me it’s…”

“Have I ever told you,” he interrupts softly, “anything that does not need to be said?”

She smooths out a wrinkle on the sheets not to let her hand reach for a pillow and throw it at him. It is not worth the trouble; he would catch it.

“Sabela,” he says quietly, with emphasis, each syllable dripping down her spine in a pleasant shiver.

That almost makes her drop the robe onto the floor. When he calls her by name, especially like _that_ , it means she has his full attention. Which is _exactly_ what she wants – and he knows that. He pulls her strings with the same mastery she plays her lute with, damn his cipher skills...

Slowly, she turns her head. “Ah, now you remember my name?”

“I do remember it. But you might have forgotten.” His eyebrows arch. “Or confused it with someone else’s. That would not be wise.”

Just like that, her composure is gone. She whirls towards him, raising her hand… He catches her wrist. Sabela remembers the last time that happened, and feels her cheeks heat up with anger and… something else. Something she is not going to name.

Thaos kisses the inside of her palm, eyes never leaving hers.

“Now you would give me _scraps_?” she asks bitterly.

He pulls her to him and rolls them over and kisses her breathless. To prove a point, she knows. But still she winds her arms around his neck and tugs at his hair when he starts moving away, because this is _her_ kiss. She can tell the difference.

“This is all _your_ masterpiece, _vulpinet_ ,” he explains calmly. “There is a right key for every melody, and you found it.” He strokes her cheek. “Well done.” Then, he sits up. “But tell me, why did you expect to get credit for playing someone else’s composition?” Thaos gets up, throwing his robe over his shoulders. “Be honest with yourself, Sabela. When was the last time you paid more attention to the artist than to the _music_?”

“Is that what I am to you?” She pushes his hand away, letting her robe fall to the floor this time, and starts wrapping a sheet around herself. A pointless, defiant gesture; but if that is all she can do, she will do it.

“You are what you made yourself.” His tone is serious.

That is why she grudgingly accepts when he picks up her robe and hands it to her. “Even a craftsman deserves recognition,” she says through gritted teeth.

“I thought you aspire to more.” Thaos reaches out, and she lets him take her hand and help her stand up.

“Is that even possible? With you?”

He lifts her palm to his lips and kisses her fingers; a very silly, courtly custom from Old Vailia that should not really affect her. Not that much, anyway. But it does. She is not surprised that he knows of it, that he remembers; not even that it seems sincere. But there is some small measure of respect in his gaze. Patience, some willingness to let her grow into her true potential. Why would he do _that_ , she has no idea.

Maybe she really does have Woedica’s favour, however small. Or maybe divinity alone cannot sustain a mortal.

Sabela sighs, defeated. “Do you always think of her, when…”

Thaos puts a finger across her lips before she can say something she will regret later. Or something Woedica could make her regret.

“If you really want my attention,” he says, turning away to pour them some wine; sweet, Vailian red; her favourite, “why don’t you play a song about yourself instead?”


End file.
